The Squire's Quest (20 page)

It was never easy to judge time when visiting other worlds, Terence knew, so he didn't ask how much longer it would be. Instead, he concentrated on placing his feet firmly in the path behind his guide to Lower Elysium. At last—though it could, of course, have been only a moment—the path opened out to a wide valley, dimly lit by a reddish orb that hung in the air above it, like a dying underground moon. There was a vast lake at the far end of the valley, and to their left there rose a long, conical hill up which a man was pushing a jagged boulder. "That's Sisyphus," Sylvanus said. "And there she is, the Old One. Just at the foot of the hill."

Together they approached. The Old One sat quietly on what appeared to be the bones of a huge creature. He was bald and had a tangled gray beard. "There, Dinadan," Terence said. "The Old One's a man."

"You're sure?" Dinadan said. "Look at her chest."

Terence looked more closely and saw that the Old One's loosely gaping robe clearly revealed the withered breasts of an old woman. Sylvanus chuckled. "We don't even wonder anymore. We just take him as she is. But whatever else you can say about her, she knows more than any of us. The trick is getting him to say what he knows." Sylvanus stopped about a stone's throw from the Old One, and said, "You go on, Lord Terence. She's more likely to speak to a lone questioner."

Leaving the others behind, Terence walked up to the Old One. He sensed that he was being closely observed, but as he approached he realized that the Old One's eyes were blank and covered with a thick white film. "And what," rasped the Old One, "brings the Duke of Avalon to Elysium?"

Despite all that Sylvanus had said, Terence was mildly surprised at being recognized, especially by his rank. He often went months at a time without thinking of his official title himself. "I'm looking for you, sir. Or madam."

"You may call me sir," the Old One said. "I feel more a man today. Or you could use my name. I am Tieresias. Why do you seek me?"

"If you know that I am from Avalon, you know that I have frequent communication with my father, Ganscotter, both in person and through messengers."

Tieresias yawned. "Is that so?"

"But all that communication has stopped. I have heard nothing at all from Avalon for most of a year."

"So?"

"I am anxious. Just before Avalon grew silent, my father told me that there had been a deep plot laid against my king—Arthur of Britain. I am afraid that the one who has laid that plot is also preventing me from speaking to those beyond the World of Men."

Tieresias shrugged. "It could be. There are those who have such power."

"Is it so? And who is it?"

"Why do you care?"

"Arthur is my king and friend. If there are plots against him, I want to protect him."

"Why?" Terence blinked at this, and Tieresias went on. "Do you suppose that you can prevent your Arthur from dying, or his kingdom from collapsing? You cannot."

"I can keep it from happening now."

"Now, next year, ten years from now...
when
means nothing. Look about you. In this place, do you think that ten years matters? Arthur will die. Your master Gawain will die. You will die. Arthur's kingdom will fall and be replaced by another, like every kingdom and empire before Arthur's and after. In the end, the time it happens matters not at all. You waste my energy with childish questions. Go away."

Terence stood uncertainly before Tieresias, feeling the weight of the Old One's own jaded weariness settling on his own shoulders. Behind Tieresias, on the conical hill, the man who had been pushing the large rock arrived at the summit. The rock quivered on the top for a moment, then rolled down the other side. The man took a breath and followed it down the slope. At the bottom, he set his shoulder to the stone and began pushing it back toward the hill. Terence turned to Tieresias.

"Sir, perhaps you are right. But I still wish to serve Arthur. If I can help him against his enemies, I will do what I can."

The Old One shrugged. "You may do what you like, but why should I pretend to care about what does not matter?"

"You don't have to care, sir, but you have knowledge that might help me."

"And why should I care if I help you? Go away, I said." Tieresias bowed his head and rested it on his staff, to all appearances sound asleep. Terence stared at him helplessly, unable to think of any more arguments. It occurred to him that perhaps the Old One was right. Maybe trying to change the course of history was pointless.

Then a new noise intruded on his despondent reflections: a faint but cheerful whistle. Terence blinked and looked around, seeing nothing. He looked behind Tieresias and realized that the whistle was coming from the man pushing the rock up the hill. The cheerful little tune broke off abruptly as Sisyphus braced his shoulders against the boulder and muscled it over a bump in the hill's surface, but then it resumed. Terence looked back at Tieresias, then again at Sisyphus, and leaving the Old One he walked up the hill toward man and rock.

Still whistling, Sisyphus gave Terence a welcoming nod, but he didn't speak. Instead he bent his knees, braced his shoulders against the stone, and began pushing it up. The whistling broke off for a second, but the rock didn't move. Without thinking, Terence stepped up beside Sisyphus and began pushing with him. The stone seemed almost to push back, but after a moment the gravel beneath it slipped, and it lurched a few more inches upward. Terence found himself breathing heavily from the exertion and heard Sisyphus panting beside him, but neither spoke. Sisyphus braced himself again; Terence joined him. Again they forced the rock uphill. And then again. Between shoves, Sisyphus would resume his whistle. Terence suddenly grinned and, once he was sure of the tune, began to whistle with him. Side by side they grunted and whistled and heaved until at last they had the boulder again at the top, where it balanced precariously for a second, then rolled down the other side.

Terence watched it until it had stopped, then said, "And now you go get it again?"

"Yes," Sisyphus replied pleasantly, starting down the slope.

Terence fell into step beside him. "Why?" he asked. Sisyphus only shrugged. "To push a rock up a hill only to have to do it again is ... it's—"

"Absurd?" supplied Sisyphus.

"Yes, absurd."

"And your life is not?"

Terence didn't reply. They walked together in silence for several seconds. They came to the rock, and Sisyphus braced his shoulders against it. "But if you know it's absurd," Terence said, "why do you do it?"

Sisyphus grinned. "The task is absurd. So are they all. But I am not my task. I am more. I am Sisyphus." With that he grunted and began rolling his burden back toward the hill.

Slowly Terence nodded, then with chin lifted he walked back around the hill to where Tieresias still sat. "Sir," Terence said. "I ask again. Who is preventing other worlds from entering Britain now, and what is the plot that has been laid against my king?"

The Old One sighed. "And I reply again. Who cares?"

"I care."

"Why?"

"Because to serve my friends is who I am. Not to do so is to deny myself. You called me the Duke of Avalon: do not do so again. I am more than that. I am Terence."

Tieresias was still for a long moment, then nodded. "I am glad to meet you. The plot against Arthur was laid by his half-sister Morgause, who sometimes calls herself the Enchantress." Terence nodded. He had been nearly certain of that already. Tieresias went on. "It is she who has cast a spell over your land, shutting the gates to otherworldly voices. The spell cannot last long, but it will last long enough for her plot to succeed."

"And what is her plot?"

"Did you not hear me? It will succeed. The end of Arthur's kingdom is in sight."

"Did you not hear me? I don't stand with Arthur because I believe he can win. I stand with him because I will not do otherwise. What is the plot?"

"She has sent her son to Camelot, to infiltrate the Round Table and to drag the king down by guile and dissension."

"Her son?" Terence said, horror slowly filling his breast.

"Yes. Her son: conceived by guile and enchantment many years ago, and raised in hatred too pure for any mortal to withstand. That son is now hardly human at all—a man filled with such a deep well of hatred that he is capable of poisoning a great emperor merely from spite."

"Poisoning an emperor?" Terence repeated. "Alexander?"

"Yes, merely because Alexander was wise and just and averted a war that the boy might have enjoyed watching."

"What is this son's name?" Terence asked grimly.

"You already know, Terence."

Terence nodded. "Mordred," he said.

Sylvanus left Terence and Dinadan at the cave of the oracle. One moment he was there, chuckling and bidding them an excellent morning, and the next he was gone, and the wall of the cave was again sheer and impenetrable rock. Dinadan felt the surface, then turned and looked around them. It was early morning, and birds whistled and chirped among the tiny buds that were beginning to show on the trees.

"Terence? You've traveled between worlds before," Dinadan began. "Does it always feel so discouraging to return?"

"Discouraging?"

"Coming back to this world—it's so flat and colorless."

Terence frowned. "Dinadan, we've just come out of a cave into the open air. How can you say that it's colorless?" In fact, Terence had just been noting that Delphi had much more color than when they had left. Surely the trees had not been budding then?

"I didn't mean that kind of color," Dinadan said. "But does it always feel strange to return?"

Terence nodded, deciding not to explain in any more detail until his suspicions were confirmed. "Come on. Let's find old Acoriondes."

As Sylvanus had promised, Acoriondes was still asleep, in exactly the same position in which they had left him. The only difference was in his beard. Usually closely trimmed, Acoriondes's beard hung in wild, grizzled tangles, almost to the ground.
A month, maybe?
Terence thought, considering the whiskers.
Six weeks?

"Terence? Look at the fire," Dinadan said. Where they had made their fire the night before, there were only one or two slightly blackened sticks to show it had ever been there. In its place grew several inches of new spring grass, poking out of cracks in the ancient stone. Dinadan looked intently at him. "Terence?"

"Sometimes," Terence explained, "when you visit another world, you come back to find that time has been moving on without you in this one."

"How
much
time?"

"Once Gawain and I were gone for a few months and came back seven years later. That was before you got to court. But I don't think it's so bad this time. It's obviously spring, but it's the same year. We should build a fire and make some breakfast. When Acorion-des wakes up, he'll be hungry.

Dinadan built the fire and fetched water while Terence scouted the area for food. The dried food that had been in their packs was long gone, foraged by small animals and birds, so he took his bow and arrows and was able to kill a wild goat that he found among the rocks. On his way back to camp, passing by the now closed door of the oracle, he found a thick vine covered with ripe grapes and gathered an armload to bring along. By the time Acoriondes began to stir and stretch, the meat was nearly cooked. "I must have been very tired, the counselor said. "I slept soundly.

Neither Terence nor Dinadan replied. Together they breakfasted on roast meat and grapes. Acoriondes examined the grapes without comment, but ate ravenously. At last he said, "What happened to our bread?

"I think some animals got into it, Terence said. "It's all gone."

"Hmm."

Dinadan glanced at Terence and with one raised eyebrow indicated clearly that he thought Terence ought to say something.

"And fresh grapes, too, Acoriondes mused. "Odd, in late winter, don't you think?"

Terence nodded.

"Except that it doesn't seem to be winter any longer, does it?

Terence took a breath. "You yourself said that this place had been considered uncanny. It does appear that, by some mysterious power, what felt like one night to us has lasted for several weeks.

Acoriondes pondered this. "And the grapes?

"That I can't explain," Terence said. "If I were one of the ancient Greeks, who believed in the pagan gods, I would say that we had been given a gift by the god of wine.

"
God
is such a limiting word," Dinadan murmured.

For another few minutes, they ate in silence. At last Acoriondes said, "It would seem that you are correct and that several weeks are past. Forgive me, but would you be angry if I cut short our traveling? I find that I am anxious about the regent and the court in Athens.

"No, indeed, Terence replied promptly. "I feel the same way about Arthur and England. I will return with you to Athens to get my horse, but will leave at once for my own land. He glanced at Dinadan inquiringly.

"Not unless you need me, Dinadan said. "I still want to learn Greek, and there are new lands and languages to visit from here.

Terence nodded. He would have been glad of the company on the return, but in other ways he was relieved. Terence had not told Dinadan what he had learned from Tieresias and wasn't sure he would be able to, at least in its full significance. Like Arthur, Gawain, Lancelot, and Kai, Terence had promised not to reveal that Mordred was Arthur's son. Without that knowledge, the information that Mordred was also the son of Arthur's greatest enemy carried less meaning. As much as Terence had learned to appreciate Dinadan on this journey, he would be glad to finish his travels alone.

By inquiring obliquely in villages along the way, the three friends determined that just over a month had passed since they had separated from the imperial party. Twice, in small taverns, Acoriondes overheard snatches of gloomy conversation about the "upset at the court, and once he heard someone talking about the Caliph's army. Acoriondes explained that the Caliph was the ruler of the Seljuk Empire, a powerful realm east of Constantinople, but he forebore to ask for further information from the townspeople. "By the time the story gets to the taverns, he explained, "it has probably been distorted beyond recognition. All we can be certain of is that matters are unsettled, both at court and on the frontiers.